


Ounce of Encouragement

by cadey (haekass)



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 23:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19778770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haekass/pseuds/cadey
Summary: "Moneypenny, what gives?" "Me, given an ounce of encouragement."





	Ounce of Encouragement

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from the Unfortunate Orphaning.

Everyone supposed that eventually it would happen.

It always did. Either the agents wouldn't come back at all, or they would come back, broken, beaten, and scarred. For some it was one too many close calls, for others it was the lure of stability in an unstable world.

For James Bond, it was a mixture. He had tried to settle down once, but it hadn't worked. He had too many enemies.

But here, a decade and some later (Best not think about how old everyone has really gotten there, James.) it was definitely time to consider truly hanging up his Walther PPK. Too many close calls, and the lure of civilian life sounded more and more appealing as he got older and noticed that he didn't quite bounce back so easily anymore. He knew that after a night on a floor, his back would be aching and his legs stiff. His left knee tended to pop now. His medical file was more of a filing cabinet. His psychological file was about the same size.

He could always take a desk job at MI6, but he knew that within six months, he would be begging M for reassignment back into active duty.

And then there was Moneypenny.

He sighed. Just the sound of her voice was enough to have him rock-hard and ready. The beauties he normally surrounded himself with – world-class lookers, every one of them. Supermodels, fellow spies, scientists, computer programmers, airline pilots, and honestly, he'd stopped caring along the way. Not one of them could hold a candle to one prim and proper English woman.

Civilian life, definitely.

He had to get out of here.

Shape up, old boy, he sternly told himself.

“You have the look of a man considering retirement.”

Definitely time, was the fleeting thought as he jerked. How in the hell had M, of all people, snuck up on him? He looked up at her, her mouth set in its normal grim line. Nodding to the bench he sat upon, he refocused on the plaques decorating the wall before him. Memorials to the dead. He could point out at least three that were his fault – not putting together clues fast enough, or not arriving in the nick of time. At least a couple dozen more were avenged. “You could say that.”

M smoothed her skirt and sat beside him, staring at the plaques. It happened to everyone eventually. Some switched out of active field duty, others left the life entirely. She was patient. Trying to force information out of James Bond would make him defensive and less inclined to speak. Allowing him to speak on his own time freed his tongue.

“It took me nine months to be cleared for active duty again.”

She nodded. She had seen the medical report. The unflappable, suave James Bond was getting old.

“How many more 'close calls' will I survive? Or will I join them?” He waved a couple of fingers at the plaques in front of them. “I'm getting old, M.”

“It happens to everyone.” Everyone was slowly dying with every minute that passed by.

“It's more than just getting old.” Shifting slightly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I'm tired.”

“Sounds as though you've made a decision already.”

“I think so.”

She nodded again. She had dreaded this day for years, ever since they had butted heads over the Goldeneye project. She knew he was damn valuable to the Crown, and over the years, she had developed a type of motherly affection for him. They got on the others nerves, wielding polite phrasing like sabers, but she would miss him. Deeply. He was, almost bar none, the best active duty field agent MI6 had. His leaving would leave a hole she wasn't sure could ever be filled. What he did was so intuitive, it could never be taught.

And James Bond would never be content traveling to a desk every day, watching new faces come in. The corners of her lips tilted slightly. “What are your plans then?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

They both heard the clicking of high heels on the floor. The paced, measured steps belonged only to one person that would seek either of them out. M looked to her left, and saw James duck his head.

She wasn't a blind fool. She had been privy to their innuendo-laced conversations, knew that Moneypenny avidly read any report that concerned James while he was out in the field, knew that without fail, if James was walking back from assignment, his first stop was her desk. He would always have some knickknack or trinket to give her, like a favored uncle bringing presents to young children, but she knew it was a soothing routine for both of them. Even when he wasn't walking back, as soon as he was walking, he could always be initially found perching upon Moneypenny's desk.

Moneypenny walked softly toward them. Keeping her focus on M helped distract her from James. Her heart ached for him, the hunched posture so different from his normal relaxed sprawl.

“Yes, Moneypenny?” M asked.

“Telephone for you.”

M nodded and stood. James wasn't the only one in the room getting old. “Very well.”

If she were any other person, she would have stopped Moneypenny from following her, would have motioned for the younger woman to stay with James. But she knew of the myriad of issues between 007 and Moneypenny. He was a notorious womanizer and thrill-seeker and commitment-phobe. She preferred quiet dinners at home and wanted a man that she could marry. She didn't trust the words he easily spoke, he didn't quite trust hers either. M could only hope to herself that they could eventually find a middle ground.

Moneypenny was never so happy to see her small cottage in all her life. Forcefully cutting off her line of thought, she pulled into her garage and quietly made the short trek into the cottage proper. She was tired.

And rather depressed.

James Bond no longer had a license to kill, no longer would appear at MI6, would not perch upon her desk or bring her trinkets or knickknacks or banter with her.

He had retired. Two weeks ago.

She no longer had to fear word of him dying in some far away country. Instead all she had to worry about was the soul-crushing boredom – and fear. There was a healthy does of fear in there too. And the bastard hadn't even dropped in on her, hadn't called, sent a note or anything. It was as though he had disappeared. She knew logically it was the best thing for him – he did have a lot of enemies that would enjoy killing him now that he didn't have the protection of the Crown. But dammit all, she missed him.

Sighing, she didn't even bother turning on a light, just tossed her keys on the counter and began to pull the pins out of her hair. She stepped out of her shoes, leaving them where they were. She'd tidy up later.

All she wanted right now was a simple glass of wine, a hot bath, perhaps some ice cream and some mindless television. The hot bath was looking like the clear winner. There was just enough sunlight left in the day for her to see as she moved towards the washroom. Tossing her hair pins on the dresser, she pulled her shirt out of her skirt and began to unbutton it.

“Good evening, Moneypenny.”

She shrieked. Loudly. And nearly jumped a foot into the air. Reflexively she grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on – a cigar tube. The very one that she had mockingly thrown in the trash bin when James had given it to her. After the haze of fright had cleared out of her brain, she could see James sitting on her settee, one ankle on his knee, his posture relaxed. He was smirking at her, like he knew everything that transpired in her bedroom in the dead of night.

She couldn't stop the blush no matter how hard she tried. “James!” Taking a few deep lungfuls of air, she suddenly realized why he was smirking. She was pointing a cigar tube at him as though it were a gun. Flustered, she put it back on the shelf that was littered with all of the little things he had given to her. She turned on the light. “What are you doing here?”

Turning back around, she nearly shrieked again. How the hell did he move that silently? Now she could see him quite clearly, his hazel eyes staring hard into hers. It felt as though her heart was going to pound out of her chest. Was she dreaming?

Did Q use her as a guinea pig for more virtual-reality tests? Or had something been slipped into her water? Or was this some sort of elaborate trap set up by one of James' enemies to try and draw him out of hiding?

No, it wasn't an imposter. James had a particular way of standing, had a particular scent, and most people really didn't know about that tiny scar on the underside of his jaw. She only knew about it because she had spent far too much time studying every nuance of his face. His hands were rougher than a pampered socialite, and it wasn't until that stray thought crossed her mind did she realize that he was holding her hips.

“James...?”

His only answer was to set his lips against hers. The kiss seemed like it lasted forever and just a few seconds.

She pulled forcefully away from him and backed away. Her thoughts were swirling around in her head. “What the hell are you doing?!”

That damnable smirk was still on his lips. “Making good on those innuendos.” Taking advantage of her surprise, he reached out and spun her into him, her bum nestled against the noticeable tenting of his jeans. Wrapping and arm around her to hold her in place, he pressed against her body. “You don't believe a word I say, so therefore I will just let my actions do the speaking for me.”

She was so mad she could punch a hole in a wall. “The bloody hell James, do you think you can just waltz into my damned house and take me like I'm one of your flings?” She tried to pull away from him, only to find that he had a grip like a vice and wasn't letting go.

Wrapping his other arm around her, he immobilized her easily. “Do you honestly think that is all you are to me? Do you think that any one of those women ever held my attention? Or were my reason for coming home?” His voice was a growl, reminding her of a conversation they had shared, long past, when the lure of danger was still too strong in him. “Do you think that I would ever drive by their houses on some of those sleepless nights, just comforted that they were there in their house?” His voice dropped to a near whisper as he leaned forward to gently bite the lobe of her ear. “Do you think that I would have ever installed a listening device in their bedroom? Do you think that any one of those women would have ever let it stay?”

Its a good thing he was holding her. Her knees probably would have given out. She knew exactly where the device was. It was in the lighting fixture above her bed. She had discovered it when she had decided to change the old bulbs to the newer energy-efficient ones. She knew as soon as she had spotted it who had put it there. It was after that very memorable conversation at his cottage. Most nights she forgot about it. The nights she couldn't forget about it were the nights she pleasured herself while imagining him being there. Several times. And then either going to work groggy and ill-tempered or lounging around in bed some more, aching for another few hours of sleep.

“In my own way Moneypenny I was always faithful to you. You were always at the desk and I would always return to you.” Placing soft, open mouthed kisses down her neck, one of his hands finished the job of unbuttoning her blouse. Her hand escaped his hold and reached around behind her and pulled the zipper down of her skirt. It slithered down her legs, leaving her only in a light blue garter belt, stockings, and her open blouse and bra.

He nearly growled his approval. Trailing his hand up her leg, he enjoyed the texture of her stocking, then her skin, and the soft lace of the garter. Good God, she didn't wear knickers. He wanted to toss her down on the bed and show her exactly how she was exactly unlike any other woman he'd shared a bed with. He didn't want to be the suave lover – he wanted to possess and dominate. It was something he never allowed himself before with any other woman. He wanted to peel back every layer of civility he had and have Moneypenny clawing at his back as she screamed his name. He wanted to mark her as his woman.

He suddenly realized he was about to give her a very noticeable mark on her neck if he didn't move on from that spot. His hand obviously had a mind of its own – it was already between her thighs, a finger darting upwards to see just how wet his Miss Moneypenny was.

She was somewhere in the stratosphere. Trying to breathe normally was beyond her. How in the hell did he get her worked up this fast? Something within her was responding powerfully to him, something she could sense, but not name. She felt his hand slide between her legs and automatically she widened her stance a little to accommodate. Some portion of her logical mind was screaming that she should make him stop, toss him out for not even letting her know that he was alive or calling or writing or anything. The other parts of her were telling that logical portion to kindly shut the bloody fuck up because she was about to have the quickest orgasm she'd ever had.

His breaths were harsh pants against her neck and hair as he seemed to time every single thrust of his hips into hers with sliding a finger deep inside her body. He was completely lost, and he wasn't sure if he had the willpower to not tear his own clothes off and bury his cock deep inside that warm, welcoming wetness as soon as they stopped bouncing on the bed. He wasn't sure if he could hold out on just taking her where they stood. “You know I listen to you. I know exactly what you like,” he growled into her ear. “I know you scream my name when you come.”

And then she did cry out his name. Just a breathy sob, really. She was so close.

Her hands were over both of their heads and latched onto the muscle that was his back, her short nails not digging through the material of his shirt. But it did give him a rather magnificent view of her chest, still bound in her bra.

Another thrust of his fingers and she did scream, her knees unlocking and bending as the orgasm shook her and would have sent her tumbling to the floor if he hadn't kept her from doing so. He could keep pleasuring her for hours yet, but he knew that he couldn't stay. Gently guiding her to the bed, he helped her lay down, but dodged the attempt to pull him down with her.

Her eyes snapped open, the pleasant fog clearing instantly. “The bloody hell James?” she nearly roared as she came back to her senses. “You're just going to get me off but not lower yourself to actually finish the fucking job?”

To forestall any further blasts of fury, he kissed her. Rolling into the comfortable bed, he settled himself on top of her. “You wouldn't believe me if I did fuck you.”

He had her there. She still didn't trust him. Closing her mouth, she nodded. She knew he was wary of being entangled with her, as she represented – and wanted – everything that he had avoided for all of these years. She was wary of committing to him, and he had a habit of non-commitment.

“When we do get around to it, I want you to believe that I have no ulterior motive and that I would honestly forsake all other women just for you.”

That brought tears to her eyes. “Just as I want you to believe that I do believe you.” Running her hands over her face, she looked at him. “Bloody hell James, you don't even let anyone know you're alive and then I find you in my bedroom.”

“I know.” He wasn't going to apologize for that. She knew why he had to disappear for a time. He gave her a short peck on the lips. “I just hope we can work out these differences of opinion rather quickly.”

Her eyes grew a little distant. “Do you have to leave?”

He quirked an eyebrow and rocked his hips into hers. Her hips came up of their own volition, her legs spreading wider to get him a little closer.

“I want you to believe me,” he repeated as he slid off of her and off the bed.

She sighed, throwing an arm over her forehead. “So what exactly am I supposed to do while waiting for you to decide to show back up?” It was more of a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway.

“A treasure hunt.”

“A what?”

His lips tilted up. “A treasure hunt, my dear Miss Moneypenny. Somewhere in your house, I've hidden something for you to find. When you find it, you will come to me.”

She sighed and sat up. “And what exactly am I supposed to be looking for?”

He smiled and gave her a deep kiss. His eyes were laughing as he pulled back. “Your ounce of encouragement.” Turning away from her, he left her sitting there on her bed, a dumbfounded look on her face.


End file.
